


Who Favor Fire

by marchionessofblackadder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rumpelstiltskin returns from an interesting deal, he brings his little maid a precious gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> “Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.” -Rainer Maria Rilke

Whenever Rumpelstiltskin left for a deal, Belle did not have to work to preoccupy herself. Exhausting her stores of energy to keep the castle clean, dust his collection, and launder his egregious leathers and scales took up most of her days while the master of the estate was away. And in the evenings she would bring a light, warm meal up to her room-a bowl of stew with fresh bread, or tea and buttered toast supplemented with a thick, dusty book from the library. She always gathered her evening reading material well before nightfall when Rumpelstiltskin was away, because as brave as she was, Belle still felt frightful being alone in the cavernous castle.  
  
It reminded her of how small she truly was.  
  
So those cold, lonely nights she locked herself away in her room with warmth and the company of words until she dozed off, nestled in downy sheets and feathered pillows. When he would return, the great hall doors swinging open as he breezed in, swaggering on his heels and tapping his fingers against his leather dragonhide coat, Belle would simply smile and welcome him home.  
  
In the beginning, he seemed wary of that. He would hardly look in her general direction, a strange glance before disappearing up to his tower. After the few months getting used to her presence, he would invite her to join him for dinner, usually by the fireside, graciously letting her occupy his chair while he chose to pace or lean against the mantle while he ate, a habit Belle had disapproved of (not good for digestion).   
  
Not that it stopped him from doing it of course.   
  
And while they ate a small meal together, he would tell her of his travels, sparingly. He never revealed too much about locations or his deals, but he would hint at things-exotic animals, a different language, sometimes glimpsing the ocean. It was all very exciting to Belle, who dreamed so fervently to see all the world’s wonders. But this time when he returned home, he did something new.  
  
This time, he returned with a gift for her.  
  
“For me?” Belle blinked up at him, her plate of roast chicken growing cold in her lap. Rumpelstiltskin leveled his gaze at her over the rim of his goblet of wine. His face was unreadable, but something in his eyes made Belle think he was fighting off a smirk. “A... gift?”  
  
“Indeed, that is what I said.”  
  
“Is this part of a deal?” Belle asked slowly, guardedly. If his eyes flickered in offense, if his fingers curled a little tighter around the stem of the golden goblet, Belle did not mind it. She felt justified in her question, after all the nature of her arrival to his estate rested at the back of her mind at all times. Wasn’t his virtue cemented in everything came with a price?  
  
“No,” Rumpelstiltskin grunted, setting his goblet atop the mantel next to a small, ornate clock. “This is, in essence, simply a gift for you.”  
  
Belle narrowed her eyes. “What do I have to do for it?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin sighed noisily, clucking his tongue, “Do you want the gift or not, girl?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know! I don’t know what it is,” Belle set her plate to the side and folded her hands in her lap primly, pursing her lips. “There’s always a catch with you. Tell me what it is.”  
  
Only then did Rumpelstiltskin smirk, equal amounts of annoyance and appreciation in his eyes before he swept forward, kneeling down in front of her. Belle gasped as in one swift motion he brought his hand down and in a whirl of purple smoke produced out of thin air a very large egg, placing it in her palms. It was the color of a clear winter’s sky, chillingly greyish blue all the way around, roughened with a scaled outer shell with ridges. Belle stared at it for a long moment, feeling the heavy weight sink into her palms before she dragged her eyes up to Rumpelstiltskin in complete wonder. “Is this a- a-”  
  
“Dragon’s egg, yes,” Rumpelstiltskin hummed lightly, his long, black nailed fingers tapping along the side of the shell, his eyes rolling from the pretty scales up to her face. “Part of the deal I made while I was away,” at Belle’s shock, he giggled, his eyes glittering suspiciously. “It’s perfectly safe, dearie. Solid as a rock, more or less.” He knocked his knuckles against it, making Belle jump at the noise. “Thousands of years old.”  
  
“So it’s... it’s just decoration,” Belle surmised, turning the egg in her hands. She smiled as her fingers caressed the scales, looking down at him where he still balanced on his knee before her. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”  
  
“This little thing is probably well worth this entire estate, dearie,” he said seriously, bouncing back upon his heels, fetching his goblet from the mantel. “Take care with it.”  
  
Belle looked up at him, startled. “Why on earth would you give me such a gift?”  
  
He was gazing at her again, as he did so often sometimes that left her feeling uneasy. It wasn’t the look of Rumpelstiltskin the sorcerer, the analytical magician who brewed his potions and cast his spells so meticulously, nor was it Rumpelstiltskin the imp who could be so very cruel in his delight of suffering. It was not the Rumpelstiltskin of her opened curtains, softened by sunlight and memories of a boy he had once lost. When he gazed at her as he did then, shadows of the fire flickering over his face and leaving him with a hungry, hunted look, he was the Dark One, a separate entity from the man she’d grown to know. It left Belle feeling quite out of herself.  
  
“A reminder, perhaps,” Rumpelstiltskin said softly, prowling close before passing her chair in the direction of his spinning wheel. “Of what I can give, and what I can take away just as easily.”  
  
Belle turned in his wide leather chair, her mouth open to ask what he truly meant, to cease his games with her, but when she did, she found herself alone in the warm, great hall, as if Rumpelstiltskin had not truly come home at all.  
  
The egg was placed on the rich mahogany dresser in her room, cradled between a new apron she’d been sewing for herself and the growing stack of books she needed to return to the library. Belle enjoyed seeing it there. It shone dimly in the candlelight at night, and, bright and cheery in the sunshine when she woke up in the morning.  
  
However, three days after Rumpelstiltskin had brought it home, something happened.  
  
It had felt as though Belle had just managed to drift off to sleep when a loud, ringing thump woke her in the darkness of her bedroom. She shot up, looking around wildly and blinking into the blackness before she noticed something moving on the floor. She peered over the side of the bed to see that her books and fabric had been strewn across the floor, and the beautiful dragon’s egg was rattling on the flagstones. And it was making a horrid, restless clicking sound.  
  
Fear choked her, and Belle could hardly manage muttering, “R-Rumpel-”   
  
At the sound of her voice the egg began to spin, the clicking becoming more agitated. Belle let out a little shriek and launched herself from the bed, running straight out of the room and down the long, winding hallway. She didn’t even bother that it was dark, or that she could hardly see in front of her (scrubbing those same floors for months on end, she could probably wander the halls blind). She was running towards the tower, before she glimpsed the tell tale golden light shining from the great hall.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin was standing up just as she ran into the room, his face furrowed and hard in confusion at her distress before she flung herself at him in a whirl. “Bel-ELLE?” he grunted, the speed of her colliding into his chest knocking the breath out of him. She was a tiny thing, but when she needed to be, she could be a force of power.  
  
“Something’s in my room,” Belle babbled, standing as close as possible, her fingers scraping gently along the fabric of his ruby brocade waistcoat. Rumpelstiltskin’s hands, warm and dry rested on her shoulders, and she heard him swallow just above her. She didn’t bother to think that she was in her nightgown, the filmy white fabric lapping softly at her ankles, her pale bare feet huddled between his high heeled leather boots. She couldn’t stop shivering until he squeezed her shoulders gently. “Something- I don’t know- there’s something in my room.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin made a vague noise in the back of his throat and gave her shoulders one more squeeze before gently disentangling her from his waistcoat, stepping around her and heading to the door. Belle turned, wrapping her arms around herself. “W-Wait-wait for me!” she stammered, hurrying after him.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin didn’t slow his gait but she caught up to him nonetheless, hurrying after him in the dark. “Not so brave now, little maid?” he asked lightly.  
  
“I never said I was brave, only that I wanted to be,” Belle pointed out reasonably, hurrying to keep up with him, more than once brushing against his back in her fidgety haste. “And if I’m not brave, at least I’m not fool enough to think I can take on something in the Dark Castle in the middle of the night all on my own.”  
  
The Dark One snorted. “That is true enough.”  
  
When they rounded the final corner before her room, Belle reached out and caught Rumpelstiltskin’s elbow. When he paused enough to look back at her, giving her a look that she knew well (what an odd girl), Belle whispered, “Please be careful.”  
  
“Do you want me to exorcise your room or not,” he sighed noisily, shaking off her arm. Belle huffed indignantly, but when the rattling echoed from her open chamber door down the hall, both of them froze, and Rumpelstiltskin pushed Belle gently behind the corner, narrowing his eyes down the hall. Even in the shadows, she could see him tense, his lip curl back from his horrid teeth. Without taking his eyes from down the hall, he whispered, “Stay here.”  
  
It wasn’t an issue of being brave, not truly. If anything, Belle feared getting in the way of something important and horribly compromising matters when Rumpelstiltskin was trying to assist her. So she stayed where she was, but peeked around the corner to watch him enter her room. Everything was deadly silent and only after a full minute did the soft glow of candlelight spill from her room.  
  
“You can come in, dearie, all is well,” called the Dark One.  
  
Cautiously following him back inside, Belle blinked at the dim light. The things from her dresser were still spilled across the floor, but other than that nothing seemed to be touched. Rumpelstiltskin stood in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels. “It appears you need to be more careful in where you sit things.”  
  
Belle blinked in confusion. “What?”  
  
“I believe,” he said patiently, and with a wave of his arm had all her belongings back in their proper places on her dresser, only more neatly organized than before, “My gift rolled off in the middle of the night because you were negligent in its placement. Does a ‘sphere’ mean anything to you?”  
  
“No- no,” Belle shook her head, walking over to the dresser. She bit her lip, glaring at the egg as if this were some kind of dirty trick. “It was moving.”  
  
“Probably from when it fell.”  
  
“No!” Belle whirled around, near to stomping her foot and making a ridiculous spectacle of herself in her frustration. “It was spinning around and making noises-”  
  
“You were asleep,” Rumpelstiltskin said slowly, his dark eyes boring into hers, a little smile playing on his lips. “And there are plenty of strange noises in this castle. I don’t doubt you did hear things. No need to be ashamed of taking a turn here, my dear.”  
  
“I know what I saw,” Belle whispered, and for some reason it felt so horribly unfair that he wouldn’t believe her. It hurt that he was laughing at her.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin watched her for a long while, and something in his eyes, something soft and sad creased his face, and he looked just as old and weary as the legend that preceded him made him out to be. “Go back to sleep, Belle,” he murmured. “And in the morning, you will feel better.”  
  
Belle stayed rooted to her spot, her feet immovable as she glared at the bed linens, rumpled from her flight for safety. She listened to his heels scuffing the flagstones as he began to close her door. She brushed the stubborn, angry tears away from her eyes and shook her head.  
  
“No I won’t.”  
  
And she didn’t. She hardly slept the rest of the night either, staring forlornly at the pretty egg on her dresser across the room, almost willing it to move and prove her right.  
  
It didn’t.  
  
The following evenings for the rest of that week, Belle locked her door at night only for the sole reason that she wished to... experiment. After changing into her nightgown and plaiting her hair with a simple piece of golden string (the stuff was everywhere), she climbed up in the middle of her bed with the dragon’s egg, perching it before her. It sunk into the downy covers and rested peacefully, making no noise or movements. Belle spent an unresolved amount of time tapping it, rocking it, studying it, and even speaking to it. It felt silly, all in all, but she knew what she had seen that night, unless it was some cruel trick, and that thought alone was enough to curdle her stomach because she knew- she knew that it was possible for Rumpelstiltskin to be so mean.  
  
But the look in his face that night when he had gently pushed her behind him, as if he truly expected something might harm her- that was no farce. She had seen him act, and she had seen him bare his honesty. She knew the difference.  
  
It felt ridiculous at first, talking to an inanimate object, but Belle persisted. Taking a book of old mythologies from her bedside, she flipped open to where one of her dried flowers from the garden kept her place and began to read until she grew drowsy, before forlornly replacing the egg back on her dresser.  
  
Sometimes, though, things don’t work according to our wishes. Sometimes, we have to wait on the world itself.  
  
Exactly one week after Rumpelstiltskin had placed the egg in Belle’s hands for the first time, something happened. Having been too wide awake to go to sleep, Belle had lit more candles than normal to read by, crossing her legs in bed and reading aloud. The egg sat before her again, and it was well into an hour of reading when Belle let the book fall in her lap with a defeated sigh. She felt more like a witch trying to cast a spell, and a foolish one at that.  
  
“The least you could do is be polite about it, instead of making me look like a flighty maiden in front of him,” she told the egg smartly, pouting as she turned to set her book aside, mumbling quietly, “Perhaps I should have said ‘please.’”  
  
When she’d leaned over to blow her candelabra out, a loud crack cut through the quiet like a knife. Belle froze, and turned slowly back in time to hear another crack, only this time she saw it-a fissure forming down the center of the egg from the middle. Scrambling away, her heels digging into the mattress, Belle pressed her back to the headboard in stunned fear as the egg began to move, the ticking, clicking, cracking sound becoming more persistent.  
  
“R-Rum-” Belle’s voice was a mere squeak, but when something- a horn, she realized-pushed through the outer, scaly shell of the egg, she shouted, “Rumpelstiltskin!”  
  
When he appeared, he looked downright irritated with her, his hands curled at his sides and his eyes narrowed at her, one eyebrow curved sardonically. He looked to be dressed for bed, a long brown robe covering him from the high necked collar to his ankles. However when he took her in, cowering against the headboard and saw a piece of the scaly shell crack away from the egg, his face changed from irritation to shock and quickly to worry. He lunged forward and pulled Belle across the bed by her waist, neither caring that it pushed her nightgown up indecently or how close they grasped one another. But just as Belle slipped to the edge of the bed with Rumpelstiltskin’s help did the egg fully break open, leaving a cloud of dust in the air that shimmered in the light.  
  
Both beast and beauty froze and watched as a very tiny, startlingly white face poked its head out from the crumbling litter of broken shell. With a dizzy and confused manner, the creature slowly blinked open shockingly icy blue eyes and looked up at both Dark One and maiden.  
  
“Merciful mother,” Belle whispered, her hand flat on Rumpelstiltskin’s chest to balance herself.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to say something, but was, for the first time she had known him, incapable of a single word.  
  
The little dragon wiggled its head, the top of the eggshell tilted over one eye like some sort of bizarre hat. It stretched out its wings and Belle gasped in delight. The creature was pure white- its scales, wings, and claws all startlingly pale as snow, its eyes a cold blue. At her noise, the dragon seemed to look straight through Belle, and she felt Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers curl into her waist, into the fabric of her nightgown.  
  
It hobbled out of the litter of shell then, and Belle squeaked in surprise, nearly jumping into Rumpelstiltskin’s arms when the creature hopped across the bed towards them, making scratchy little caws. Rumpelstiltskin pulled Belle behind him, but the maid held fast to his arm, “Wait, don’t hurt it!”  
  
“It’s a dragon, dearie, I’m quite certain we have more to worry about than it does.”  
  
At their sudden movements, the little dragon stopped, perched on the edge of the bed. Belle peeked around Rumpelstiltskin’s arm and met the creature’s surprisingly discerning eyes. Its tail was nearly as long as its four legged body, and was feathered just as its flanks, wings, and crest. It tilted its head at Belle, blinking thoughtfully at her and almost looked... well, endearing.  
  
“Oh, Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle whispered sweetly, resting her cheek against her employer’s arm. “It’s just a baby.”  
  
The Dark One glanced quickly between woman and beast before seeming to realize what was transpiring. “Oh no, no, no,” Rumpelstiltskin turned until he faced Belle, his hands warm on her bare arms. “Don’t you do that now, dearie.”  
  
“Do what?” Belle asked, smiling gently up at him.  
  
“You know exactly what, little miss. As you have no doubt noticed, I don’t keep pets.”  
  
Belle glared. “And the spider in the dungeons that almost ate me?”  
  
“She is different,” Rumpelstiltskin scoffed, affronted. “I’ve raised her from an infant. You don’t know how long it takes to get as big as she is.”  
  
“That thing could eat a mammoth, and it almost ate me,” Belle replied tartly.  
  
“And you think a dragon is any safer? Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin clucked at her, but Belle threw up a finger of warning, narrowing her eyes.  
  
“It’s my gift,” she said slowly, a smirk pulling at her lips. “And no matter what you say, you won’t take it away from me. I know it.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin took a step aside and waved his arm towards the little creature. “You want to test a beast, my dear? Please, do so. Prove me wrong.”  
  
Belle’s arm dropped when her eyes fell on the little dragon. It almost didn’t look real. It was about the same size as a kitten, its wings swathing its body, watching her with a studious gaze of intent. Belle’s readings growing up had always taught her dragons had died out hundreds of years before, for the most part. It was nigh unheard of to find one anymore, so Belle was not cognizant of the protocol in dealing with such a creature, but assumed since it was a hatchling that treating it as any infant animal was a good start.  
  
Approaching with caution, slow and steady, Belle reached out her hand, offering her palm up. The little thing did not move, and Belle very carefully touched two fingertips underneath its jaw, stroking lightly. The dragon made a rattling purr that brought a smile to Belle’s face, glancing over her shoulder at Rumpelstiltskin who was watching the scene play out before him with hard, narrowed eyes and a tightly closed mouth. Taking care to always move slow, lest she frighten it, Belle sat down on the bed and continued to pet the dragon. Almost immediately the little hatchling hopped forward and landed comfortably in Belle’s lap, nuzzling against her tummy with an appreciative purr.  
  
“Oh my gods,” Belle whispered in hushed reverence, trailing her fingers softly through the white feathered flanks, over the sloping scaled neck and down the leathery snowy wings. The dragon was warm, and just a shade below uncomfortably hot. Sitting in her lap as it was, the dragon made for a wonderful substitute for a blanket.  
  
“Seven hells,” Rumpelstiltskin nearer a groan than a sigh, probing his temples with his fingers before swishing over to her, his brown robe whirling in his wake. He pointed a finger at her this time, eyes like slits, looking more reptilian than ever. “I won’t deign to waste my breath in trying to forbid this-so understand that this little monster is yours. You will feed it, care for it, clean it, and keep it out of trouble. Is that understood?”  
  
Belle blinked up at him, hurrying to catch his instructions, swallowing. “I- I understand, but what if-”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Bu-”  
  
“No.”  
  
Huffing, Belle glared up at Rumpelstiltskin. “I might need some guidance!”  
  
“Last time I checked, a book is what got you into this mess, wasn’t it?” Rumpelstiltskin threw a gesture to the storybook on the side table. “So perhaps a book is the first place to start in helping you out of it.”  
  
The little dragon peered up at Rumpelstiltskin from Belle’s lap and squawked quite irately, and suddenly the Dark One growled inhumanly deep, his lip curling back until the hatchling ducked its head in submission. Belle stared in stunned silence, her mouth open as she glanced between the two before asking in a tremulous whisper, “What on earth was that?”  
  
“Dominance,” Rumpelstiltskin hissed, glaring at the little creature before looking back at Belle, his eyes hungry and burning, his voice low and rough, nothing at all like the twittering giggle of the mischievous imp. It was unsettling, and Belle felt relief at not being on the receiving end of it. “You were the first thing it saw, dearie. You are its mother now, but he will learn that this is my territory, and so are you.”  
  
Belle blushed from head to toe, and felt a tightening in her chest where her heart fluttered and left her light headed before Rumpelstiltskin nodded once, satisfied with both dragon and maiden. With a short bow, he nodded to her and sent a warning glare at the beast before disappearing in a snap of purple smoke.  
  
Glancing down at the little creature, Belle realized belatedly with an easy smile something that brought a giggle to her lips. “Oh, white and blue eyes,” she touched the top of its head with a finger, stroking between its eyes. “Imagine that, little one. You look just like me.”


	2. Something To Be Feared

Belle often wondered after that if that was the last time Rumpelstiltskin had held any patience with her and her pet at the same time.  
  
For the magician was indeed right: the dragon was more than doting on Belle. The following days, it was like working with a child tugging at her skirts. The maid could fit the hatchling in her apron pocket as she swept, dusted, mopped, scrubbed, and bustled about the castle, the little ball of scales like a warm heap of coals against her lap. It was content to nap while she worked, and hummed happily while she sang under her breath. He tucked himself at her side while she read near the fire, burrowed his way into her blankets in bed, and sometimes nested in her hair if she nodded off in the windowsill.  
  
Oddly enough, Belle found she enjoyed the company. The little creature was affectionate, taking to nuzzling under her chin, burrowing under her arm, curling up by her feet, or roosting on the back of Rumpelstiltskin’s wide leather chair whenever he offered the seat to Belle (which was every evening).  
  
As for the Dark One, he did not find the creature as charming as his maid did. When the little dragon wasn’t loping awkwardly after Belle, all wings and dodgy limbs, or perched on her shoulder with his tail curled about the back of her neck, more often than not Rumpelstiltskin found him first. The little devil seemed to enjoy the echoes of the lofty rafters of Rumpelstiltskin’s turret, though he never attempted to travel to the top. Instead, they would find him burrowed in Rumpelstiltskin’s dragonhide coat tossed carelessly over the stool near his spinning wheel.  
  
“For Heaven’s sake, he’s just a little thing,” Belle tutted after Rumpelstiltskin had fetched her to the tower. “You honestly can’t purge him out of your work room yourself?”  
  
“It hisses at me,” Rumpelstiltskin explained slowly, as if Belle were daft. He pointed at her, wagging his finger with a nasty smile. “And I tell you now, Belle, if that monster draws my blood, I’ll use it to make gloves.”  
  
“Oh! So be it, you horrid man,” Belle bristled instantly, puffing her cheeks up before turning away and looking at the scaly mantled heap and the little white face peeking out from the lump of fabric. “To me, Wendell, come on,” Belle patted her thighs and smiled triumphantly when the little dragon squirmed out of the coat and tripped across the floorboards as quickly as he could to Belle.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head, peering at her inquisitively.  
  
“Yes,” Belle looked up at him proudly, crossing her arms under her chest. “I’ve named him.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin’s roll of his dark eyes told her all she needed to know about his feelings on the matter, and she watched him rub his forehead wearily. “Of course you did,” he muttered before pausing, his eyes darting to his maid suspiciously. “...Wendell?”  
  
“Yes,” Belle beamed, wiping her hands on her apron as she straightened up. “I knew a Wendell once. A little bothersome, if truth be told. He slobbered something awful, but he grew into a great prince.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin snorted in disdain, muttering sourly, “Of course he did.”  
  
Belle smiled in good humor, knowing his acidic opinion of royalty, but she wasn’t about to have that conversation (again). Turning away, she looked down and gasped to find that her pet had vanished. She gave a twirl, looking all around her before a loud crunch broke over the quiet of the turret. Turning, Belle found Rumpelstiltskin standing near his work table, arms crossed and wearing the biggest pout she had ever seen. He glared at her as she approached to find the dragon munching on the Dark One’s prized store of hemlock.  
  
“Get it out. Now.”  
  
It wasn’t until after the boot incident (wherein Wendell had made an impromptu den out of one of Rumpelstiltskin’s thigh high lace up boots, then took off with it like a happy-go-lucky bandit) that Belle realized something. One afternoon while they were taking tea in the great room, Belle, perched on the platform of Rumpelstiltskin’s spinning wheel, tilted her head as she watched her little hatchling sniffing at the curtains, more curious than a cat. “Why doesn’t he fly?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin, seated on his stool at his wheel, paused with his teacup just before his lips, before glancing down at Belle. He set the chipped cup in its saucer, rolling his head to the side to see her from around his hair, “Why, all useful skills must be taught.”  
  
“Taught?” Belle blinked blankly up at him before they both turned to look at the little dragon. Watching quietly, Belle realized that she hadn’t noticed it before but it was true. The dragon didn’t fly. He’d always followed her, hopping behind her heels or perched on her arm or shoulder.  
  
“I expect he must learn how to breathe fire as well,” Rumpelstiltskin took a deep, steadying breath as he watched the creature. He spoke as if it were some chore he wasn’t looking forward to.  
  
“Why on earth must he learn that?” Belle asked defensively. Wendell was her pet, after all. She didn’t want him to be a hazard in their everyday lives. “It’s too dangerous.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin set his cup and saucer down, peering at Belle as if she’d grown two heads. “Dearie, how on earth do you expect him to be able to fend for himself in the wild?” At Belle’s shocked expression, Rumpelstiltskin hesitated and seemed to realize he had neglected to mention something very important. “Look at our little dragon, now, Belle. He’s grown three times his size since he hatched. He will continue to grow... and grow. You can care for it dearie, all you want,” Rumpelstiltskin pursed his lips unhappily, turning away from Belle’s quickly rising hurt. “But no matter how much you care for him, he will always be a beast.”  
  
Belle dropped her eyes to what little tea was left in her cup, studying the gathered honey at the bottom of the porcelain.  
  
“You’re not a beast,” Belle said quietly, sitting in the middle of her bed that night with her pet dragon curled up in her lap. She stroked the feathered flanks of the little creature, the heated scales more comforting than a bed warmer. “No matter what he says, you’re mine, and I’ll care for you just as you are, no matter what.”  
  
The little dragon blinked with large, sleepy blue eyes up at Belle, looking more content than a cat who’d had its fill of milk and mice. But Belle was also a shrewd girl, and she knew that Rumpelstiltskin was right. She couldn’t keep a full sized dragon, no matter how much it hurt to think she’d have to let the little thing go one day. For the first time since she came to the castle, Belle appreciated having another living breathing thing with her that wasn’t the master of these walls. She found comfort in caring for Rumpelstiltskin, their snickering sarcasm and playful banter, but between the dragon and her master, Belle knew which one was more likely to bite her should she reach her hand out in loyalty and compassion.  
  
“And you won’t be like other dragons,” Belle insisted as she laid back against the mountain of pillows behind her in bed, smiling when he gave an appreciative purr as she ruffled the feathers along his flanks. “You’re mine, and that means you may be a beast, but you won’t be a monster. And no one is going to slay you,” she added with a wrinkle of her nose and a sour note in her voice. “Or I’ll slay them first.”  
  
Wendell tilted his head up at her, and Belle wondered not for the first time if the little creature could understand her. Part of her wished to believe so, his big blue eyes filled with a type of wisdom she couldn’t fathom and probably never would. His tail curled around his body as he snuggled against her tummy, and Belle grinned down at him. “You’ll grow to fear no man, and not because they will fear you, but because you will show them there is nothing to fear,” she decided, running the pads of her fingers along the heated scales of his neck. The creature nipped her finger affectionately, and she giggled, taking it as a deal struck.  
  
They began the next day, in the garden after Belle’s chores were complete. The snow had all but melted away, though the cold mountain winds still forced Belle into her cape of sky and earth mottled brocade. She’d had to search for thicker woolen tights and a heavier set of petticoats and boots, but after she’d gotten out into the lawn with Wendell trailing beside her, enthusiasm washed away any concern for the weather.  
  
“Let’s try jumping, shall we? It’s easy, I promise,” Belle bent her knees and sprang up in the air, flailing her arms a bit to land on balance. The little dragon watched her, snugly sat on the cobbled walk of the courtyard. After another jump, he hopped forward, his dodgy wings wrapping furiously.  
  
“Wonderful!” Belle praised, clapping her hands. She knew he would catch on, the smart little creature. He was, after all, so often copying Belle’s movements that she thought perhaps it worked similarly like being with a child. If the adult acted, so did the little one.  
  
Apparently, dragons were not so different.  
  
“Let’s try it from a height, now,” Belle said studiously, and scooped up her pet to walk him to the fountain. It didn’t run, in fact it was still frozen from winter time, but the fountain’s edge was flat enough to stand on, and when Belle joined Wendell to stand on her tip toes beside him, she smiled down encouragingly, for she could see by his antsy, fidgety movements he was getting worried. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you get hurt,” she cooed. “Now, watch and do as I do.”  
  
With a little jump, Belle hopped down from the fountain and landed on her feet and hands in the grass. Huffing, she straightened and dusted herself off, turning to look at the little white dragon that still sat anxiously on the fountain’s edge. Belle pouted, putting her hands to her hips. “Oh, come on now, I know you can do it.”  
  
Wendell scrunched his neck back, and Belle swore that he was doubting her.  
  
“It’s like before, just a little higher,” she said softly, stepping forward and kneeling down in front of him on the wet walkway. With an encouraging smile, she flapped her arms about her. “Soon, you won’t have to worry about falling, because you’ll just keep going up and up. Won’t that be wonderful?”  
  
The little dragon shifted its weight back and forth, and Belle felt her heart crack down the center when she heard his high whining cry, dipping his head down to stare at the ground below morosely. “Oh,” Belle murmured, her face crumbling in hurt. She leaned forward on her knees, hands outstretched to pick the little creature up to comfort it when a hand touched her shoulder and held her back.  
  
“Don’t,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, and Belle looked up to find him just beside her, slowly crouching to balance on the balls of his feet just behind Belle, his knees brushing her. His eyes were dark, his skin appearing even more pebbled and green under the unforgiving shine of the sun, but his face was hard with concentration as he watched the dragon. “Don’t help him. Let him do it.”  
  
“But he’s in distress, I can’t just-”  
  
“You must,” Rumpelstiltskin replied sharply, his mouth set in a frown. “If you want him to succeed, you must let him learn to fall.”  
  
Belle clasped her hands in her lap, pursing her lips in displeasure. She looked back at her pet, who still worried at the edge of the fountain, looking at her as if begging for her to rescue him. Oh, and how she wanted to! He was helpless, and little, and Belle was regretting having ever taken him outside. He was probably too young to even learn how to fly.  
  
Placing his other hand on the side of her waist for balance, Rumpelstiltskin leaned over her shoulder and cooed to the hatchling, catching its attention. Wendell’s eyes widened into large icy blue stones, and his feathers along side his head ruffled in curiosity. Belle watched between the two, transfixed as the Dark One made the cooing sound again, this time taking his other hand and tossing what looked to be dark seeds along the ground. With a generous flapping of his wings, Wendell pushed off with his legs and jumped off the edge of the fountain, landing on the walk without any grace at all. In fact, he not only fell over, but he rolled a good two times before he was able to right himself and gobble up the seeds Rumpelstiltskin had tossed to him.  
  
“Oh,” Belle pouted, looking up at her master. “That wasn’t fair.”  
  
“Why not?” Rumpelstiltskin asked indignantly. “A little reward for hard work is no bad thing.”  
  
“It feels like a trick to me.”  
  
“Once you’ve raised a babe of your own, you’ll understand the difference between actual deception and just a trick,” Rumpelstiltskin hummed, straightening up and returning the dragon to the minute height of the fountains edge. The creature munched happily on a mouthful of seeds as Rumpelstiltskin deposited him once more upon the stone ledge. “One can be used to the benefit of both parties, the other is merely selfish.”  
  
Belle regarded the Dark One curiously, blinking up at him in the sunshine. “A babe of my own?” she asked coyly, her eyes dancing. Rumpelstiltskin froze in mid stride returning to her. “I thought I was to remain with you. Forever.”  
  
Her employer said nothing, returning to crouch beside her, and simply muttered quietly, “So you are.”  
  
Belle beamed triumphantly at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin uncomfortable under her scrutiny, enjoying the victory of having him bewildered and caught up in his own words for a change. He played with words so very often, Belle felt satisfied in having tied his tongue up with them.  
  
They each took turns calling to the dragon that afternoon, until he could both hop up and down off the fountain, flapping his wings clumsily in pursuit of flight. The snow continued to melt until the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and the cold winds began to rise once more. Near the end of their time in the courtyard, Wendell was able to glide smoothly from the two foot drop up and down.  
  
“I’m quite parched,” Belle finally said, straightening up. Her skirts were crumpled and her knees were muddy and wet, but she brushed the grass away and stretched her legs out with ease. “Tea?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin rose without a word, whistling to the hatchling. With startled amusement on Belle’s part, the dragon swooped up from the fountain to land pertly on the Dark One’s arm, and Rumpelstiltskin hummed in appreciation before leading Belle back into the castle. She hadn’t even thought about it before then, but realized that as they passed through the great hall that he was leading her up to his tower. He never invited her up there, unless it was to fetch more straw for him or disentangle Wendell from about his ankles, so Belle found it curious when they reached the landing to find the tea tray, complete with a warm pot, cups, saucers, honey, sugar, milk, and fresh berried pastries awaiting them.  
  
While Belle laid her cloak over one of the tables, admiring the tall bookcases, the lonely spinning wheel, and twinkling glass vials, she busied herself with the familiar task of making their tea (a slice of lemon for Rumpelstiltskin, a spoon of honey for herself). She hardly noticed when Rumpelstiltskin drifted over to one of the windows, and didn’t think it strange when he waved a careless hand to open it.  
  
When he flung his arm out, casting the little dragon out the window shrieking in fear and several stories into the air, Belle dropped the teacup, teapot, and her heart all at once.  
  
“No!” she cried, running across the room and vaulting forward, nearly right out the window had Rumpelstiltskin not caught her about the waist. “What have you-!”  
  
“Look,” Rumpelstiltskin giggled, pointing. He and Belle leaned just over the edge of the window to see the little dragon, just a white streak in the air, not so much flying as he was gliding his way down. His wings were off balance, and he more than once was spun about in the breeze, end over end, tail and tooth and feather, but he landed with more grace on the lawn this time, hopping happily through the wet grass. Rumpelstiltskin giggled again, clapping his hands. “The little lizard isn’t completely defective, it seems.”  
  
Belle blinked into the dying sunlight that was slowly dipping behind the mountains, watching the little hatchling as it flapped its wings and gave a little triumphant screech. Her heart was still tumbling down from the clouds when Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, his hands warm on her waist, murmuring into her ear, “It seems your bravery is rubbing off on your little one, my lady.”


	3. Something Good and Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final installment! I'm so sorry for the wait. I had so much fun and joy writing this little story.
> 
> This final chapter is dedicated to Beeeinyourbonnet. Happy birthday, my honey bunny!

The snow had melted and spring had fallen over the mountains, turning the glittering ice into sparkling water that flowed from the white caps and flooded the plains of the valley the Dark Castle resided in. With rich, fertile soil, Belle found herself in a world flourishing in ways magic could never recreate. The trees began poured their leaves like green waterfalls, the flowers blossomed and opened, and the gardens were frothy in leafy vegetables and ripe with succulent fruits. It was not difficult to enjoy the spring in this way. The sun was bright and warm on her delicate skin, and she wore skirts of the palest blue linen, a thin white blouse that curled over her shoulders and bared her arms and neck to drink up the light she’d pined for in the dark wintry months.

Belle could not have called them unhappy months, though, she decided as she walked through the lines of rose bushes that graced the garden wall. She paused to prune and pluck the fat, fragrant blossoms, their satiny petals of vibrant crimson, gold, and pink tickling her cheeks when she held them to her nose. Turning, she found her helper patiently sitting on his haunches behind her, holding the handle of her basket between her teeth.

With gentle care, Belle placed the blooms into the basket with the rest and patted the feathery snowy white crown of her dragon and smiled. She winked once. “My good boy.”

If anyone were to come calling to the Dark Castle, Belle wondered vaguely what they would think of passing the maid and a beast in the garden. She knew dragons were depicted as fierce creatures that wet nurses told children in fairy stories, but looking at Wendell, she couldn’t see him as such a thing. His wide blue eyes and smoothly scaled face was nothing less than precious to her, and his feathery wings and flanks weren’t awe-inspiring so much as endearing. He was nearly the size of a great wolf, smaller than a horse but larger than a burrow. His tail flopped lazily in the grass, enjoying the wet plopping sounds it made.

“Take them to Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle said, and when her dragon tilted his head to the side, spilling some of the blossoms, she sighed and knelt down, picking them up and placing them back into the basket. “You know who I mean.”

Wendell continued to stare at her before blinking slowly, and Belle narrowed her eyes. She pointed up to the nearest tower of the castle, the highest window that always remained open, and sighed, “Take them to papa.”

The feathers behind Wendell’s ears fluttered, and his leathery wings gave a bursting flap. Pushing off with his chubby paws, he ruffled Belle’s skirts, as well as the grass and rose bushes, and took off up into the sky to perch upon the tower’s open window. Belle wrinkled her nose, seeing some of the flowers fall from the basket, and wondered how many Rumpelstiltskin would actually receive by the time the dragon made it to him. Hopefully, the sorcerer didn’t need too many.

As she made her way back into the castle, politely folding her green and gold brocade cloak over the table, she felt a deep unsettling sadness root itself in her breast. It had grown stronger as the winter months receded, and for all her thoughtfulness about it, Belle didn’t know where it had come from or what was the cause. It had gone so far as to catch her in moments of misty-eyed dusting or brooding quietly over a humble dinner of bread and cheese, the library books not even enough to distract her.

Rumpelstiltskin had been able to see she was not herself, and when he’d mentioned it one day by way of asking if she felt alright, Belle saw the way his usually twittering fingers curled up in his hands, his wide dark eyes squinting in helpless uncertainty. She supposed he rather that she was sick-a problem with a logical solution that could be mended, especially by a sorcerer. For some deeper ache that she couldn’t put into words even for herself, a sickness of the heart-well, if it was hard for Belle to be able to face it, she could only imagine the sheer panic Rumpelstiltskin felt about it, the man who was disconcerted with by a simple touch. 

Except under special circumstances, Belle supposed, gathering together the porcelain tea tray and beginning her walk up to the sorcerer’s tower. There had been moments, few and far between-on her shoulder, at her waist, demure little brushes of his fingers that were more decorous than any of the suitors she’d danced with at court, but held reverence and sweetness whenever he wasn’t aware of himself. The nature of the Dark One often disturbed and confused her, and left Belle feeling like it was hopeless to ever try to reach out to someone who some days seemed like they didn’t want to be found beneath so much darkness. But those touches...

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense, nor was it even truly kind, for he had no intentions of doing it. Belle could see that much whenever she caught a glimpse of his face, so wrapped up in the present moment that his hand strayed, those clever fingers finding her willing to stay beneath them. For all the things her books could describe the touch of a trembling man, Belle didn’t know what to equate with Rumpelstiltskin, and as her feet came to the top of the landing of the tower stairs, she was still pondering it when she heard a reedy shriek that rattled the china on her tray.

“Oh, no you don’t, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin wheedled, a pipe stuck between his lips. Wendell had stretched out his neck as far as he could to inhale the fragrant smoke, and the Dark One swatted the dragon’s maw before wagging his finger in the chastised beast’s face. “I don’t intend to be set on fire again, no matter how much you enjoy the scent.”

“Perhaps if you smoked outside, he wouldn’t bother you so,” Belle said pleasantly, crossing the tower to his wheel. He kept a small tea stand just to the side of it that had her basket of straw before it, and she set the tray on top of the little table. “And anyway, he can’t breathe the fire yet. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

Rumpelstiltskin narrowed his eyes in wounded betrayal at her from across the room, smoke curling from his nose. Belle only smirked in regard, plucking the roses from off the tray and approaching his work table. “In case you needed more,” she added, handing him the roses.

The sorcerer watched her with suspicion for a moment longer before he took the flowers from her, counting through and sorting them by color. He paused over one of the only reds that had made it intact and held it back to Belle. “Here,” when Belle blinked at him in confusion, panic sparkled in his eyes before he gave them a gratuitous roll and bopped her nose with the long stemmed bloom, imploring, “For your trouble.”

When Belle pinched the stem between the thorns and took it quickly, she heard him huff “silly girl” under his breath, and she hid a smile in the petals as she watched him, flustered, attempting to organize his already immaculate work station.

Moving the pipe to the corner of his mouth, the smoke twirled up in sensual lines, and Wendell leaned closer, stretching his long, smooth neck out to inhale the fumes. Rumpelstiltskin threw his hand up without taking his eyes off his work, swatting the dragon at his flank. He gave a gruff snort, and the sorcerer set Belle with a glare once more. “Get your beast out of my window.”

“He did you a favor,” Belle reminded him primly, but hurried around the work table to shoo the dragon off his perch. Wendell gave a whine when Belle pressed him from the window’s ledge, and he hung his head as she closed the window behind him. She stayed there to watch him as he flew off, throwing out his great white wings to gain height as he disappeared into the clouds. “Where does he go?”

“The mountains, I suspect,” Rumpelstiltskin said close against Belle’s ear and startling her into a jump. She pursed her lips, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, but found he was just as enraptured with the dragon’s flight as she was, his dark eyes trained out the window and watching the bright spring day turn dark with the clouds floating in front of the sun. “It’s cooler up there.”

Belle’s shoulders sank, and she turned to sit herself in the window seat, facing the great sorcerer. “He stays gone longer each day,” she said quietly, looking at her knees. Thinking about it made her melancholy, but it was a truth she couldn’t avoid; Wendell became more independent the larger he grew, and most days he would fly off, disappearing for hours on end and making Belle wish she could go with him, to see all the things he saw. Half of her was wistful for that freedom, but the other half worried after him, too, wishing she could protect him. What if a knight or witch or wizard tried to hurt him?

Rumpelstiltskin tapped his long fingernails on the tabletop, watching Belle in thought before clearing his throat and setting it aside. “It’s nature’s course. All creatures must leave their nests, eventually.”

“But he’s still so small,” Belle implored, hesitating when she realized her knowledge of dragons only extended as far as Wendell and the books of the library. They had boasted sizeable monsters larger than the Dark Castle, but was that really true? Belle finally looked up, troubled. “Isn’t he?”

“That’s a matter of debate between scholars,” Rumpelstiltskin said hesitantly, looking back down at his hands that fingered his pipe. He tapped his dark nails against the stem, looking back up with false brightness that made his voice seem brittle in his attempt to cheer her. “Long ago, they used to believe dragons were immortal, but that’s certainly not the case. Their aging is, in fact, skewed.”

His attempt to distract her worked, and Belle was easily led astray by her curiosity. Tilting her head, she rested her flower in her lap and curled her fingers together. “You mean… like a dog?”

“Precisely!” He rapped the pipe’s contents into the mortar that sat upon the table and smiled in pleasure as he took up his pestle and crushed the burned herbs into the mixture he’d been working on as she came in. “Except with dogs, they age seven times faster than a human. Dragons are the opposite; they age much slower. Though our Wendell is the size of a small bear, his mind is still quite immature.”

“How slow will he develop, then?” Belle thought aloud, not intending to be answered.

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at her with wide, dark eyes, his hands going still. He hesitated, but did not break eye contact with her, not even to blink. “Ah,” the apple of his throat bobbed as he gulped. “Well it’s...it’s never been...studied.”

Belle frowned, wrinkling her nose. “Why ever not?”

“Because…” the sorcerer stopped his ministrations, taking his hands away as if afraid to touch anything. He looked down at the table, as if he’d seen something that would bite him, but Belle knew he was more afraid of her, in that moment, than any poison or curse he was concocting. His voice trembled lower and he finally said in admittance, “They never live long enough for the opportunity.”

“Oh,” Belle’s eyes fell down to the velvety rose in her lap, ignoring the tightening in her own throat. An absurd image of Gaston came to mind. The knight drawing his sword in full armor to charge at her Wendell, who would sooner cover himself with wings and tail to cower rather than try to defend himself. “Oh.”

Rumpelstiltskin drummed his fingers on the tabletop before slapping his hand down in determined cheerfulness. “Until now, of course.”

His mood was borderline brittle from his facade, but it comforted Belle to know that the idea of Wendell being hurt bothered Rumpelstiltskin as much as it did her. She supposed that he was afraid of upsetting her or worrying her, and she had the fleeting wonder of what he might do if she cried. Perhaps that was why he was so insistent upon making sure she didn’t.

Belle slid off the stone sill of the window and made her way carefully around the work table until she was at Rumpelstiltskin’s elbow. The magician’s hands paused over the mortar he’d been adding rose petals to from the blooms she’d collected. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Belle was oddly grateful for that, because that surely would have brought forth her tears-to see him care, though she hadn’t seen it before she knew she would find it in his face. She knew it.

“You wouldn’t…let anything happen to Wendell, would you?” Belle asked softly, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and taking a ragged breath.

The sorcerer put the flat of his hands upon the table, leaning forward and a muscle in his cheek twitched. When he turned his face to look at her, a gentleness lining the corners of his eyes, he said, “We had a deal, dearie. All your friends and family will live.”

“But Wendell-”

“Will be safe,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly, bowing his head with a hand laid to his heart. He smiled at her in a bashful way, seeing her own smile begin to grow once more on her face, and let his eyes fall. It was such an innocent gesture that it hurt Belle’s heart to see it, the most powerful man in the world shying from making a woman happy. “You have my word. You always did.”

At Belle’s sweet smile born of pure relief, Rumpelstiltskin glanced once more out the window and nodded in thought, murmuring, “The mountains aren’t that far, and he’s still unsure of his ability to fly. Your little one hasn’t left the nest completely, my lady. Not yet.”

A giddy rush of happiness filled her to the bones, until she was bubbling with a smile that she couldn’t resist pressing to his scaly green cheek in a kiss, her arms around his neck in a brief hug that was fierce and warm. She felt him go instantly tense and heard a quick gasp, and even though he didn’t hug her back, Belle didn’t mind it. The kindness he was showing to her could cost him much, she was sure. Darkness in one didn’t come without a price, but that he could find even a little light for her meant more than he could ever know.

When she let him go, Rumpelstiltskin was staring at her with wide, frightened eyes, his fingers curling up into his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with him, and Belle laughed helplessly, shaking her head. “I’m- I’m going to get you some straw,” she said suddenly, nodding brightly as she fetched the empty basket from his spinning wheel. He was still staring at her wordlessly, she could feel it, but it didn’t once make her falter in this. She had to get out, to taste fresh air and sunshine and let his autumn leaves and damp soil scent tingle in her nose while she still had it close. “And then I’ll return-with more roses, if you need them?”

Rumpelstiltskin finally seemed to breathe, opening his mouth and looking down at his workbench where the petals were discarded, and whatever he’d ground up in the mortar. “N-No,” he finally breathed, looking back up at her and blinking as if she’d just hung the moon in the sky. Then he cocked his head to the side and stepped around his table, his hands nervously fluttering in front of him. “Do you need gold?”

“No, I have enough of your thread to barter for straw,” Belle said, her heels clicking pleasantly against the hardwood floor as she crossed the tower to the stairs, and when she rested her hand to the banister, she felt her skin burn all the way down to her belly when Rumpelstiltskin stopped her, touching his hand to hers. She turned to see him standing just a stair above her, watching her with a mixture of desperation and hope, and she thought he might say something then. He couldn’t seem to get it out, and Belle smiled up at him still a little helplessly and, trying to tease with him, said, “Keep an eye on my boy for me, while I’m gone.”

“But you’ll come back?” Rumpelstiltskin asked suddenly, his words a quiet rush that all ran together and left Belle a little stunned. He looked so scared in that moment, such a small man that her heart hurt in her breast to leave him so befuddled and lost in himself.

“Of course, I’ll come back,” Belle whispered, moving her thumb from beneath the shelter of his hand and brushing atop his knuckle, squeezing for just a moment before she smiled brighter and danced down the steps, basket on her arm. She gathered her cloak from where she had folded it upon the table in the grand hall, tugging on her gloves as she whirled down the steps and out the front doors of the castle.

Brisking her pace through the gardens of the courtyard, Belle was almost dancing in her happiness that she didn’t recognize. She’d never felt so happy in the wake of such sadness, but it was a kind of triumph that she could taste. She felt as though she’d finally done something right for those who depended upon her. She knew that saving her people and the lives of countless soldiers could be called heroism, but there was something so very intimate about that little kindness, that boyish sweetness that she’d glimpsed in Rumpelstiltskin. So very human, so very much like an ordinary man.

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle could see white wings that disappeared within the clouds above, and she felt pride warm her from her hair to the tips of her toes. A beast he may be, but he was hers and she could never love him less for it.

A laugh bubbled from her lips that she smothered behind her glove, and she was shocked at herself for the silliness in the gesture until she reasoned that there was nothing wrong with being happy. With being happier than she’d ever been. Her mood subdued itself by the time she began her journey into the forest, but it was only quieter in her thoughts of the lonely man who’d all but pleaded with her to make sure she would come back. It wasn’t until then that Belle realized that in the same hand she gripped her basket, she held the velvety red rose he’d given her from the bouquet of that morning.

Smiling softly, she put it to her nose as she walked, her heels turning a darker shade of silver in the wet mud where the sun didn’t reach through the green canopy overhead. Her mind seemed to have caught up with her heart, looking at the rose, because Belle hadn’t thought for a moment of what it could mean that Rumpelstiltskin could show her kindness, compassion, mercy-that it could include love. She almost stumbled at the realization, blinking wide blue eyes at the dreary, muddy path ahead of her.

Belle had not seen it to be true, because it wasn’t until that moment that she saw her own love for him, as well, reflected back at her in that gentle touch and shy smile.

_You have my word. You always did._

The walk to the little town was a gloomy affair, but even the clouds that had begun to darken and hide the sun could not diminish the brightness of Belle’s smile as she paid for the straw bundles. The trader gave her a curious look, but she just bit her lip and shouldered her basket, twirling her flower as she hurried back onto her path home. _Home_.

It was her small turn up the slight hill in the road that made Belle come to a complete and sudden stop to find an enormous black carriage blocking her path with a small team of horses and guards. When she stumbled to a halt, one of the soldiers leaned up from his horse and knocked upon the window of the carriage’s door before he opened it and a beautiful woman stepped out. She was clothed in rich black silks and a deep purple bodice that had embroidered lace delicate enough to be spider’s webs falling all about her leather clad legs.

“What could possibly take you that long in such a spit-small town?” the woman asked, stepping down onto the driest part of the road, her candy apple red smile making her white teeth seem terribly off-putting.

Belle had to swallow once, twice, to regain the power to speak. Her mouth had gone completely dry, and she felt small when the guards on horse began to space themselves apart until they were almost behind her. “I...I’m just on my way home.”

“Oh are you?” the woman asked, tilting her head and puckering her lips. She clasped her hands in front of her, tilting her head. “Home to see your papa?”

Startling at the question, Belle blinked. “No.”

That seemed to throw the woman off, and she wrinkled her brow, straightening up before the coldest, most beautiful smile broke across her face. “Home-to that monster?” she asked, tossing her head and when Belle glanced down, feeling a heat burn in her cheeks, the woman laughed, loud and ringing before she closed the space between them with sauntering strides. Belle tried to back up, but the guards on horses at her back brought her up short.

“You should’ve just lied to me,” the woman said in a pitying voice, tsking as she came to stand almost toe to toe with Belle. When she tried to move her basket to keep the gap between them, the woman lashed out, smacking it aside and throwing the straw and her flower into the mud before capturing Belle’s chin in a vice grip. She was shorter by almost foot, so Belle found herself on her toes, looking up into the fearsome and beautiful face. “But you’re too good for that, aren’t you. That’s why he’s like this, why he’s become…” She threw her hand up in a gesture born of frustration.

Belle tried to move her mouth, but her words were muffled by the woman’s black laced gloved fingers when she asked, “Who are you?”

“Your warden,” the woman said with a wide smile, and tossed Belle backward with a force more powerful than any ordinary human strength, sprawling her on her back in the mud. “Take her to the tower. I need this little flea out of my way.”

Hands, tight and pinching her with their armor, grabbed her by the warms and hauled her up out of the mud, and Belle tried to struggle against them, only serving in hurting herself against their grasps. Behind the carriage there was a barred cart that Belle threw her legs up at, and she let out an unholy scream when they tried to force her inside, thrashing and giving the two guards who had hands tangled in her hair and cloak more trouble than they expected.

“Oh for seven hells!” The woman snapped, glaring as she stood in the door of her carriage, overseeing the scene. “She’s a girl, you idiots!”

The hand that had tangled in her hair suddenly let loose, and Belle threw herself away from him only to have that same hand come down hard against the back of her head enough to make her teeth clatter, ears ring, and her vision double. Nearly falling right back into the mud, the guards caught her and laid her into the cage before locking the heavy door behind her. Something hot and wet was pooling in her hair, and Belle whimpered when keeping her eyes open soon became too painful to bear.

The next time she awoke, she was warm and laying down, tucked into a bed. Perhaps Rumpelstiltskin had gathered her up into his arms and carried her home after saving her from that awful woman. Perhaps he had killed them, too? She hoped not, she hoped nothing would take away from the happiness of that morning. Praying he might have left water on her bedside, Belle opened her eyes to a shadowy room she did not know with a skylight that cast moonlight upon her floor. When she tried to sit up she felt a heaviness in her arms and legs, only to realize she wore chains. 

Wrestling her legs and arms free of the threadbare blanket, Belle found herself stripped of her blue dress, her mother’s pearl, her cloak, even her shoes, and wearing a dark blue shift that had tears and had seen better days, she was sure. Tugging against the chains, Belle gritted her teeth, wondering if she could try screaming to see if anyone would hear her. She certainly couldn’t hear anyone else, or anything else save for the wind.

Struggling to stand, she found some slack in the cuffs and was able to lean far enough to see up into the skylight, pressing her lips together. It was while she squinted up at the moon that her door opened, startling her almost enough to lose her balance from her awkward position.

“You’re awake,” the woman said, leaning against the door with her sinful smile. Belle glared. “Oh, don’t be so sore. You’ll be comfortable enough here, and no one’s going to hurt you.” She paused, tasting her own words before sparing Belle a wink. “Just behave.”

“Why am I here?” Belle asked tighty, taking a step back when the woman advanced a pace. “I haven’t done anything wrong, you can’t just lock people up.”

“You’ve done a lot of damage, actually. Not that I won’t enjoy the overtime it’ll take me to get the beast back where I like him best,” she said, her hands and throat dripping with jewels that caught the moonlight. Belle narrowed her eyes, and the woman sighed as if explanations were tedious. “It’s just safer if you’re out of the way while things...come to a boil.” 

“Why not just kill me?” Belle challenged, raising her chin when the woman’s dark eyes sparkled. The idea of death didn’t scare Belle very much, not as much as she expected it might in the beginning. In truth, she worried more for her absence and what might happen if Rumpelstiltskin thought she’d run for freedom. That idea had her stomach churning bile, and her heart aching enough to make her want to beat against the walls. He had her word, she needed him to know it.

“I don’t like throwing away my prettier toys,” the woman said with a queer laugh of her own that made Belle’s skin crawl. “Besides, it would be an utter waste. You could be useful in the future.”

“I still don’t know who you are,” Belle said, narrowing her eyes and shifting to the left when the woman circled her to the right. “Have I wronged you in some way?”

This made the woman laugh again. “No, dear.”

“Then please, please let me go,” Belle whispered, feeling the inevitable tears welling up in her throat to knot painfully. She didn’t want to shed anything for this woman, but having no options, no ideas, she couldn’t bear simply disappearing and existing. “I have people I need to go home to-people who need my help.”

The woman’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments, and she seemed almost reproached, her smile falling ever so slightly like oil from a painting. Belle blinked the tears from her eyes, sniffling and looking down at her wrists, offering them up. “Please, just let me go. I won’t-I won’t tell anyone, not even Rumpelstiltskin.”

The laugh burst from her red lips before the smile reached her eyes again, and Belle felt herself wilt when the woman threw her head back as if she’d just been told a jest. Shaking her head, she sauntered back to the door, deaf to Belle’s pleas and cries. She did not return.

The food that the guards brought her in the following weeks was too rich for Belle’s upset stomach, but it was useful in many ways. It helped her identify that the woman who was clearly in authority was rich, powerful. Perhaps even a queen.

The plates, bone china, also were opportunities for her to help keep herself sane. Once she’d finished a meal, she broke the plate in half, then shattered half of it across the floor. When the guard came in, cursing her and throwing insults, Belle ducked her head and stayed seated upon her cot until they could clean up the mess and take away the remnants of her meal, save for one sliver of porcelain she kept from smashing the plate. It was with this she could carve out her marks upon the wall to tally her days, and that helped both busy and sane.

There was no point in trying to resist or fight the guards. Claude would leer, but there was strict instructions that she’d overheard from one of the guards outside her cell that “the Queen said that the girl was not to be tampered with”, and Belle wondered why that was-not that she was trying to petition otherwise. But she learned that her warden was, in fact, a queen, and that sated some of her curiosity.

As weeks grew into months, Belle felt herself becoming wearier with the days, though she slept more than anything else. Awake, she could try to relive her books and stories, remembering some of the tales Rumpelstiltskin would tell her at dinner.

Thoughts of him and Wendell were constantly with her, an aching, pulsing pain between her breasts that made her almost sick. She had no way of knowing if Wendell was alright, or if Rumpelstiltskin… what of him? Would he look for her? Remembering the words she’d left with him with, the promise to return, made her queasy. He probably assumed she’d ran away.

What if he went to her father? Belle didn’t know how he would react to her father, if he would even let Sir Maurice get a word in edgewise before he unleashed wrath. No matter what he felt about (or for) her, Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t a man to be cheated. Hopefully he would listen to reason enough before anyone could be hurt.

Worrying on these things made her head ache, but it was a better alternative to trying to hope for the best. Hope was important, but she needed something more substantial to bide her time with until...what?

A break in the dull monotony of imprisonment came in the form of a darkly dressed man opening her cell door. He wasn’t a guard, and he certainly wasn’t a friend to the woman who kept her locked up, as evidence when he slashed the chains from off her ankles and wrists. The opportunity of freedom seemed such a distant possibility that his offered hand was making her head spin, until he muttered the words “creature” and “your father’s life”, bringing Belle up short.

Expressing obstinacy in her lack of knowledge to kill Rumpelstiltskin, though, drew him up short, and before Belle could ask further what in the world it all meant, she felt his hand come across the side of her face, and all she could remember after that was blackness.

Waking up was harder the next time, but the knowledge that Rumple was still alive was enough to reignite something in her. There were people who wanted him dead, and certainly this queen had something against him. The venom that dripped from her voice whenever she referred to “that beast” told Belle that much, and one night, with a newly sharpened bit of porcelain from a shattered bowl, she clambered down onto the stone floor and began a work in earnest. She didn’t care if the guards disapproved. They never came close enough for her to do any harm to them with a simple shard (not that she would try), and if the Queen disdained her walls and floors being decorated with harmless sketches, so be it.

Well, perhaps “harmless” was diplomatic.

Recalling as much as she could, Belle frowned, biting her lip as she drew a crude map of the enchanted forest and its kingdoms. She knew King Leopold’s lands, King George’s, and where the Dark Castle was. She could give an estimation of the mountains, the surrounding harbors, and her own lands, as well as the frontlands which took up a wide berth between her home, Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, and King George’s kingdom. That left a sizeable hole in the eastern woods, and Belle left it blank. If she was where she suspected, within the realm of King Leopold, then this could only be one queen.

Taking note of the sunrises and sunsets, and calculating the days and weeks into winter, Belle was sure of it. It was the beginning winter, around the solstice, that Belle began to notice a flickering shadow pass over her skylight. It happened three times a day-morning, noon, and at the witching hour, but she could never time it perfectly enough to catch a glimpse of what caused it.

Whenever she asked Claude what he thought it might be, he gave her a flat look and narrowed his eyes, as if both thinking her daft and crafty. Perhaps she was the latter, though, because she made it a habit of listening to Claude and his fellow guardsmen talk about ‘plans’ being ‘set into motion.’ It was the night that they spoke of the queen having left the palace for some council meeting that Belle found herself standing to stretch her legs and seeing the shadow pass over her skylight at noon. She didn’t catch what the shadow was, but she was determined to that night.

Well past sunset and after dinner, Belle took the spoon she was given with the stew and strained herself until she was laying on her back on the floor, staring up at the skylight. The moon was high and bright and flooded her room with light, almost blinding her, but the clouds were heavy and moving fast. Frowning, she tilted the spoon up, catching the light and casting the reflective bit of light back up into the window.

Nothing happened.

Soon, her arms hurt to keep them up, so she rested the spoon on her stomach, frowning up at the moon. When the shadow did pass her, Belle nearly threw the spoon up at the ceiling in her haste before throwing the light with it back up through the window. She wobbled it between her fingers, flicking her wrists so the light would at least be irritating to anyone looking down. She’d done it a few times to Rumpelstiltskin whenever she polished anything silver, wiggling the reflected light across his face until he slammed his book shut or sent her a withering glare.

But nothing happened.

“Please,” Belle whispered, moving the spoon in earnest. _I did not hope for a fairy godmother, nor wish on a star even when my people’s children cried_ , she prayed, closing her eyes against the tears and thickness in her throat. _Please, have mercy._

Behind her closed eyelids, the light went darker, and Belle looked up to find a large silhouette looking down at her, blocking the moon. She gasped, dropping the spoon and almost threw herself underneath the cot when she noticed feathers.

The head of whatever stared down at her was incredibly feathered, like…

A sudden snort from above fogged the windows, and Belle’s face burst into a smile, tears rolling down her cheeks as she called up, “Wendell!”

Her dragon-her grown boy, black against the night, put his paw up against the glass once, twice, three times, patting at the glass insistently. She bit her lip, looking down at her shackles when the glass from above suddenly shattered, raining down on her. Belle squealed, throwing her arms up and ducking her head as she felt pieces fall into her hair.

When she looked up, Belle’s mouth fell open because Wendell had grown. He had grown immensely. Last she saw of him, he was the size of a mule, but he probably could’ve made a feast of a mule as he crept through the window, thin and lanky and more like a lizard, clawing into the walls before slithering closer and knocking Belle over. He breathed hotly into her hair and rubbed his big, feathery head against her stomach, making her laugh and licking her face with his forked tongue. “Oh-oh, Wendell,” she threw her arms around him, feeling her heart and stomach at war to come up through her throat and touch the sky.

The pounding on the stairs was enough to drop them both, though, and her eyes widened in horror before looking up at her beast and back at her shackles. “I can’t leave,” she explained, rattling the chains. “I’m-I’m stuck. Can you chew it?”

The dragon tilted his head to the side like a dog, before trying it with his shiny black teeth. The chains snapped with sparks, and Belle squeaked again before pushing herself back and up to her feet just as Claude burst through the door with his guards.

Curses, shouts, and screams drew some of the guards back, but Claude narrowed his eyes at Belle and pointed, “Stop her!”

When most of them brandished weapons, making Belle stumble back against Wendell’s scaly white stomach, the dragon drew himself up, planting his front paws over Belle protectively before opening his mouth and letting loose the most painful, earsplitting roar she had ever heard. The immense heat had her turning her face away, and the screams of pain from the guards made her squint through the haze.

He was burning them.

The charred smell of ash made her stomach roil, but she pushed it away when Wendell swallowed the last bit of flames, snorting smoke with a great huff of what Belle swore was indignation. When she stepped from beneath his legs to look up at him, he regarded her with wide blue eyes, and she threw her arms around his leg, kissing one of his scales that was as big as her cheek.

“You can fly and breathe fire now,” Belle said miserably, feeling an emptiness fill her chest. She looked up at him, wiping her cheeks. “It’s like I’ve missed how you learned to walk and speak.”

When Wendell tilted his head, she shook her own and gestured for him to come down. He went immediately, and Belle climbed up behind his neck, safe between his shoulder blades and wrapping his greater feathers around her arms to hold on. Hesitating, she bit her lip before leaning forward and said, “Take me to papa, Wendell. Hurry.”

His wings beat against the ground and his entire body trembled when he made a keening sound before throwing them both through the window. Belle held on to his feathers, shutting her eyes as much as she wished to see the view. It was freezing the higher the dragon flew, and her eyes were watering-or perhaps they were tears, being able to taste fresh air after so long. Pressing her cheek into his feathers, Belle hugged her pet’s neck and smiled against the heat of his scales, whispering, “I’m coming back, Rumple.”

Belle was sure her heart was soaring with them, somewhere up above the clouds, but when Wendell emmitted a strange sound, a strangled grunt that had his wings hesitating their rhythm, Belle raise her head against the wind, squinting in the night to see something that made her eyes widen and her breath catch in her throat.

A large, oily purple cloud was blacking out the horizon, growing and expanding and moving like a living thing. It was swallowing up the landscape, obscuring the world around them, and it was coming closer. Belle felt the tension in the beast beneath her, felt the uneven thrashing of his wings against the stormy wind, and she tried to pet his flank, tried to comfort him in some way and signal him to turn around before he flew straight into it. 

In desperation, the poor dragon tried to heed its mother’s words, but Wendell was still young, just as Rumpelstiltskin had warned her. Before he could understand her words, the cloud swallowed them in an inky blackness, and without his vision, Wendell was not flying but falling through the air. Belle tried to pull up and back against his feathers, but there was an undercurrent in the thick, humid cloud that made it hard to breathe or even think. Trees and snapping branches cracked in the air, just before her dragon crashed through the woods, pitching Belle off of him as they both came to a thundering, blackening darkness. 

 

* * *

 

Opening her eyes was a struggle, and there were bright, flashing red and blue lights drinking up the night sky. She couldn’t remember what had happened-only having stolen the first car she’d seen. It was the only way she would be able to get out of Storybrooke fast enough before the orderlies raised the alarm, before they contacted the police that she’d escaped. Now she layed against the steering wheel, blood dripping down her eyebrow and into her eye, staring at an ambulance parked on the side of the road, lights flashing off the shiny wet hood of the yellow car that had collided with her.

It left her legs trapped beneath the crushed console, but she didn’t feel any pain other than her face. Glass clinked and leaked from her hair and her coat as she tried to sit up, and a patrol car pulled up in the same moment when a tiny pat on her shoulder made her turn her head, though her entire neck protested against it.

Leaning over the red leather of the front seat of the Cadillac, a small boy with impossibly blue eyes and white blond hair petted her hair back from her face. “Mama, are you okay?” he whispered as the sheriff slammed his door and rushed to the medical workers who were escorting a woman in a red leather jacket toward the ambulance.

“No, I don’t think so,” she whispered, blood dripping from her face and onto her hospital gown.

When the sheriff saw their car, he sprinted towards it, and she tried to take a deep breath before he wrenched open the passenger door, cursing quietly before shouting over his shoulder, “Medics!”

“Whatever happens,” she whispered, reaching up and smiling when the little boy took her hand. They met each other’s eyes, and she kissed his small, pudgy hand. “Be my good boy. Be my good, brave boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to write a sequel. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Answering ravenclawslibrary's prompt, "Dark Castle days, Rumple brings a baby dragon back from a deal. Belle gets attached."
> 
> Hope you enjoy, dearie. Love you!


End file.
